How to Heal a Broken Heart
by Hinn-Raven
Summary: "How bad is it D?" Tex demanded, crouching over York. Delta's voice remained steady. "York will survive. Healing unit active." York survives his encounter with Wyoming. Nine years later, he sees Carolina's face on a screen.


"How bad is it D?" Tex demanded, crouching over York.

Delta's voice remained steady. "York will survive. Healing unit active."

"Good," Tex said, shifting York slightly into a position of better cover.

"Agreed. Movement will be difficult after a sustained injury—"

"Yeah," Tex said. "Now, can you provide a distraction for Wyoming while I sneak around the side?"

"Affirmative."

* * *

"You okay?"

"My fucking chest hurts," York grouched. His helmet sat by his side, giving Tex a complete view of his face. He looked older—she was sure there was grey in his hair, although it was barely clipping his temples. The scars around his eye were now faded and less vicious looking.

"At least you're alive," Tex reminded him, sitting down next to him. Wyoming was in a coma, with Delta monitoring his vitals to make sure he wasn't faking.

"Ha! Guess I am." York made a face as he shifted positions, wincing. "Aren't you going to take your helmet off?"

There was a long pause and York froze, as he realized what he'd said.

"Sorry. I forgot." He looked appropriately contrite, but it didn't help.

"Lucky you," she snapped. She'd tried to take her helmet off once—tried to see what the Director had put in the armor. A robot, maybe, or some crude facsimile of the real Allison? But when she'd tried, something in her had frozen, her limbs locking in place as she held onto the base of it. A subroutine, maybe, or just a defense mechanism that her brain had implemented since she didn't really want to know. Or maybe the helmet was a part of her.

"Hey, don't bite my head off," York held his hands up. "Honestly, I see where Carolina got it from sometimes!" Grief flickered across his face, but he shoved it down quickly, bringing up his wide smile that was as much of an effective mask as his helmet would have been. Tex determinedly didn't flinch.

"You miss her."

He sagged slightly against the wall, smile gone in an instant. "Of course I do, Tex. Every fucking day." He looked at her with his one eye, and she thought about how ridiculous it was, that he probably knew her better than anybody that wasn't O'Malley.

He knew _what_ she was, but he also knew _who_. He didn't have the giant gaps in his memories like Church—like the Alpha—warping the way he saw her, blurring the lines between memory and reality, even changing the way _she_ saw things, sometimes, with the conviction in his words, and he also didn't look at her and see the shadow of a dead woman, like the Director did. She wasn't a heartless bitch or a ruthless fighting machine. Even though he liked to needle her sometimes, calling her Allison... to York, she was just Tex.

He was quite possibly the closest thing Tex had to an actual friend.

And she'd nearly gotten him killed. He'd nearly died because her gun had jammed—if the bullet had been one inch further…

"You should stay here," she said quietly.

"Ah, I don't think that'd be a good idea," York said. "D says that my injury triggered some sort of beacon, and I'm pretty sure a whole bunch of Freelancer folks are going to swoop down. And they probably aren't going to want to hug it out, either."

Tex growled at him. "And you didn't mention this before?"

"I thought we'd be leaving soon!"

Tex wanted to scream. She wanted to punch someone.

"Leave the armor. Take Delta. And get _out of here_."

"What, and leave you to deal with Omega on your own?"

"The Reds and Blues—"

"Sound like great guys, really, but I don't think they're going be of any help here!"

"I'm not going to get you killed!"

"It would be my decision, Tex!"

"Listen to me. When all of this is done, I'm going to get Alpha out of that canyon. I'll need you to cover our escape. So go to these coordinates, and wait for my message." She rattled off a series of numbers that corresponded with one of her safe houses.

Getting Church out of the canyon, away from the Director, away from the Project, had been on her list of priorities. One that she would move immediately to the top once O'Malley was dead.

York was injured already; another fight would kill him.

She had failed Connie and Maine and Carolina; she had failed the Alpha. She wouldn't fail York.

" _Fine_. But don't take too long. I'm going to be all squishy and helpless without my armor."

* * *

Agent Texas was dead. York intercepted the radio signal, and he stared at the wall blankly.

There weren't any details on the report, which didn't help anything. He couldn't imagine what could have killed _Tex_. He knew she wasn't unstoppable—he'd been with her for her big failure, after all, but he had never thought she could lose so badly that she would _die_.

Honestly, he hadn't even been sure that she _could_ die, given that she was actually just a fragment of an AI like Delta.

He needed a drink.

Correction: he needed _many_ drinks.

He hadn't gotten that drunk since the Mother of Invention—Delta spent the whole night talking him down from every single idea that he had. He recorded another journal entry, a mess of sobs and slurry recollections of Tex kicking ass.

He wondered if anyone had made her a grave, or if she had just vanished into the depths of Project Freelancer, like Carolina.

Thinking of Carolina hurt too much. And this night was for Tex.

He wanted to laugh, realizing that his grief for the two women had tried to be competitive. He was pretty sure it was ironic.

He spent the next morning puking his guts out, which was also probably a fitting tribute.

Afraid of having attracted attention, he quickly skipped planet. There was no point sticking around, given that there was no way the Alpha would be escaping without Tex.

York, now bereft of his armor, but handily assumed dead by PFL, who had written him down as another victim of the Meta, tried to settle down back into his life of petty crime.

He got himself another set of armor, which he painted yellow out of habit more than anything. Delta scolded him for making himself recognizable again.

He didn't care.

PFL went down in flames, brought down by some Sim Troopers with a grudge who he recognized vaguely as Tex's friends, and he bought himself a drink, toasting his ghosts.

A part of him wanted to go find them, to see if they could tell him the rest of the story—the fill in the gaps that Tex had left. He wondered if that Church guy had ever learned the truth about Tex, or about himself.

He glanced over the list of names—she'd told him all of them, in the days they'd spent camping outside of Omega's hideaway. Donut wasn't listed—she'd described him as an "idiot with a hell of an arm". He wondered what had happened. But the rest of them—Church and Caboose and Tucker and Sarge and Grif and Simmons—they were all there. They'd all made it.

Tex probably would have been happy about that.

Delta agreed.

* * *

Years passed. Four years, to be precise.

And then, on an ordinary Sunday, the world fell apart.

"Hi there. You might not know me, but my name is Epsilon."

York nearly fell over. Epsilon was gone—the AI had been torn out of Wash's head after he'd nearly killed the youngest of the Freelancers. Everyone had known that. He had seen Wash afterwards, knew that the AI had tried to kill himself inside of Wash's head, unravelling the whole time. He'd been unstable, dangerous.

The Director had told them that.

Cold dread curled inside of York's stomach. Another lie. So what was the AI doing on the screens? Every screen in the electronics store that York was casing was covered in the blue AI's face. Delta was practically screaming inside of York's head, running calculations and trying to trace the signal.

"Please examine the files that I have attached to this transmission. They include our coordinates, as well as information about the survivors of the crash; who you might recognize as the heroes of the UNSC."

Wash's armored face appeared on the screen.

York froze, cold washing over him. "Wash—"

Delta began to mutter information about the file on Wash in his ear, but York wasn't listening, still staring at the screen helplessly.

How had Wash fallen in with the Blood Gulch Troopers? That was… Wash had been… he hadn't run, not like the rest of them. He had stayed. He'd been the loyal one. He was Recovery One, he still did their bidding—

But he'd joined forces with the guys who'd taken them down. York couldn't help but grin as he realized that the baby Freelancer had managed to play them all—York, the Director, the Councilor, possibly the entire world. York was incredibly proud. He'd send flowers or something, maybe let the kid know he wasn't dead. It might be nice to talk to somebody who wasn't in his head now and again.

Carolina's helmet appeared on the screen.

York's brain shorted out.

"D, how soon can we get to Chorus?" He asked calmly.

"I will run the calculations."

* * *

Chorus, as it turned out, was rather close to the satellite station that York had been visiting. One stolen slip-space capable ship later, he was there.

Delta quickly detect that there was an encrypted channel being used; a frequency that was very familiar to the both of them. Grinning, York had Delta ran the translation. They hadn't changed the key. He supposed there wasn't a point—as far as the two of them knew, they were the only ones left who'd know it.

The smile faded quickly as he realized what was being said. The Reds and Blues were in trouble. Hargrove was attacking, and it didn't take a genius to realize that charging onto a ship like that without an exit strategy might be difficult.

Well, it looked like he'd get to meet them after all. Too bad Tex wouldn't be there to smooth over the introduction, but oh well. He'd wing it. He was good at that.

He ignored Delta's protests that no, a plan would be far preferable, and focused on the infiltration part.

They were guarding a door, fighting their way through line after line of Hargrove's forces.

Delta ran the odds.

York grinned.

He took down the current round of forces with a couple of well-timed shots, a grenade, and the fact that no one was expecting more resistance from behind them. He then raised his hand as all guns immediately swiveled towards him. "Whoa, hey! On your side here!"

"Yeah right," the orange one snarked. "Why should we believe that?

York wanted to groan, especially since they had a point. "I'm a friend of Tex's, I heard your message, I was close-by, I came to help."

"Scary lady is gone," the token blue among the group said, in a faintly puzzled voice.

"Yes, I know. You're Caboose, right?" It seemed like a fairly safe guess. He pointed at the pink one. "You killed Tex with a grenade. The Tucker guy says inappropriate shit. Look, we don't really have time for this right now!"

"I don't know—" The red one snarled, in an accent that made York blink.

" _York_ ," Delta warned, and York went low, shooting the first of the next wave.

"Can we please discuss this later?" He shouted, glancing over his shoulder at the soldiers.

They all piled into the room, swearing and mildly injured.

"What the— _York_?"

York looked up, spotting the tiny little glowing blue figure.

"Epsilon, right? Nice to meet you."

"You're _dead_." The AI insisted, sounding perturbed. He didn't sound anything like the Director. Which was good. That guy's voice had been irritating.

"Last I heard, so were you," York said mildly, checking his ammo. "D, why don't you coordinate—"

" _Delta_?"

"Greetings, Epsilon. It is a pleasure to meet you." Delta flickered into view, across from Epsilon.

"Holy fuck you're a freelancer?" The orange one howled, gun pointing at York again. York wondered just how many of his former comrades these guys had met, to achieve that level of response.

"Unfortunately. Agent York at your service," he waved, hoping the motion wouldn't make them shoot him. "Can we talk about this after the people stop trying to kill us?"

"Carolina and Wash are on their way with an extraction," Epsilon said.

"Lovely," York said. "Wait a—is that _Tex's head_?"

Epsilon's voice was pure venom. "Yes. Yes it is."

"I know I just got here, but can I get in line for punching this guy? I'm sure there's a line."

"There is," the one whose armor was a painfully familiar shade said. "It's a long one."

Hargrove's forces began to break down the door.

"Well boys," the red one said, "You know what they say." He switched his gun out for a shotgun. "Today… is a good day to die."

"Permission to speak freely, sir? Fuck that."

York liked the way the orange guy thought, even if it did seem to involve pointing a lot of guns at him.

"Delta, you and Epsilon can both run the suit," York said, helping the bizarre Spanish speaking robot move the table into place. "That thing's our best shot. Who's the most likely to be injured?"

"You," Delta and Epsilon chorused.

"Fine. I'm keeping the healing unit then."

The purple guy let out a frightening cackle. York side-eyed him. "You know, I'm sure there's a story there that I really don't want to know, but I'll find out later."

"That's just Mister O'Malley. He laughs a lot." Caboose said cheerfully.

York froze, all instincts clamoring for him to move as _far away_ from the purple guy as possible. "As in _Omega_?"

"We can talk about it later!" Epsilon yelled.

"And I thought Tex's stories were confusing," York muttered.

"Question? Why isn't the Freelancer guy wearing this stupid suit?" Tucker complained.

"Because Maine had terrible odor problems that, frankly, I'd rather avoid," York said lightly, not wanting to mention that there was no way in _hell_ he was getting in that thing. Luckily, there wasn't much time to argue.

The door burst open and all conversation died.

York wasn't sure how long the fighting was, but it was too long.

The Reds and Blues weren't nearly as incompetent as they, by all rights, _should_ be. Given that they were Sim Troopers—and ones that, according to Delta, received record-breakingly low scores, they should have been dead within the first barrage of bullets.

But then again, they'd survived this long.

* * *

He was crouching behind the table that served as their only cover, slapping his healing unit on a heavily bleeding maroon trooper whose name he hadn't caught when he heard Carolina's voice for the first time in fourteen years.

" _Get down_!"

An explosion rocked the ship, billowing smoke and fire. There were screams as the Charon Industries guards were taken down. York started to grin.

"Is everyone okay?" Carolina strode into the room, Wash and a couple of other people that York didn't recognize behind her. Her stride was familiar—that ease, that confidence, that lethality. There was a worry to it too, that panic when she hadn't had time to yet take a head count.

Any doubts that York had fostered on the flight to Chorus died instantly. This was Carolina. This was the woman he'd watched die.

Except he hadn't. Because she had lived. She had lived, and he had mourned her, and she had never found him, never told him, never even contacted him.

"We're all alive, C," Epsilon appeared. "But, ah, there's something you should probably—"

"Hey 'Lina," York said quietly, getting to his feet, straightening up from behind the table. "Long time no see."

There was a moment of pure, terrifying silence while York prepared to be shot or punched.

" _York_?" Nope, that was even worse. Carolina's voice—York had never heard her that hurt, that raw. It sounded like she was on the verge of shattering.

He spread his left hand out, but used the right one to remove his helmet. A risk, technically speaking, since the fist/bullet was still probably in his future, but one that was probably worth it in the end.

"So," York cleared his throat, reaching into the depths of his mind. "Are you secretly Agent Tennessee? Because you're the only ten—"

He was cut off.

Because she had just tackled him in a hug.

" _What the hell_?" He heard Tucker shout in the background. But dealing with the confusion of the Sim Troopers wasn't really wasn't on York's priorities at that moment.

Not when Carolina was there, and real, for the first time in fourteen years.

"How?" She muttered, just low enough for York to hear.

"Tex didn't want Freelancer catching me," he said, trying to get his hands free so he could hug her back, but he wasn't having much luck. "So, when Wyoming shot me and triggered my beacon, she had me take Delta and run for it."

"That can't—" Wash was staring at him too. "That can't be right."

"Oh, hey Wash." He would have waved, but Carolina's grip was very strong.

"I recovered Delta from your body. We implanted him in Caboose. The Meta captured him. He's the one who figured out who Church was. He can't be—"

"I am right here, Agent Washington." Delta flickered into existence. "And I left behind a short-term copy of myself in York's armor in order to make sure that no one suspected that York was not actually inside of his armor. It would have deteriorated within thirty-six hours had the Meta not interfered."

"You can _do that_?"

"In the short term, yes." Delta transferred back to York. "Agent Carolina. Although I am certain that York is enjoying your presence, I believe you are cracking his ribs."

Carolina let him go as if she'd been burned, stumbling backwards.

"I thought you were dead," York said. "I didn't… until I saw the broadcast…"

Carolina looked away. "It was… complicated."

"I'm sure." There was a note of bitterness there that York couldn't disguise. She'd been alive the whole time—nine years when he'd still been known, years that she had just… ignored him. He didn't know what she'd been doing.

"Well, this just got awkward fast," the maroon one said from his position on the ground.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, are you Simmons or Grif? Tex wasn't too specific in her stories. When it came to the Reds."

"That's because Agent Texas was a dirty Blue!" The red one who was probably Sarge yelled, still wielding his shotgun. "We successfully kept her from valuable military intelligence!"

"Okay, you're _definitely_ Sarge." York nodded to himself.

"Yeah, and that's Simmons. He's the nerdy one," the one who, by deductive reasoning was probably Grif, said.

"Good to know." He looked warily at the weapon that Grif was using. "Have I mentioned how absolutely fucked up this room and all its contents is?"

"Knowing you? Yes. But it probably bears repeating," Wash said.

"Good. Because this is fucked up. This whole planet is fucked up. And I'm still super confused about everything. I'm about… nine years behind."

* * *

Everything was a bit of a blur after that. There was a party, and a bunch of speeches, and York just hung in the background, letting it all wash over him. Delta and Epsilon were constantly conversing, which made York ache something awful for the days at Project Freelancer.

Carolina was looking frayed at the edges. She was nervous.

York moved towards her unconsciously. She was sitting at the bar, not in her armor for once. Her hair was longer now, and loose, tumbling past her shoulders in brilliant red waves that took his breath away.

He slipped into the seat next to her, and grinned. "Come here often?"

She jerked, nearly tipping over her drink. She turned her head away. "I've been busy."

"I gather," he said. "For a while now."

She flinched as if… well, not as if he'd punched her, she wouldn't flinch then. She'd have blocked and returned. She flinched. That was it.

"I didn't mean—" Except he had. Because there had been five years of silence. Five years when it had been him and Delta, and only him and Delta, searching through reports and hoping every time he saw mentions of a female agent.

Carolina still wouldn't look at him.

"Right," York said. "I guess I'll just—"

Her hand snapped out and caught his wrist. Carolina turned her eyes to him for the first time in fourteen years and he couldn't look away.

Her eyes were different. Older. There was a franticness in them.

"Don't. Please." Her grip was firm as ever.

"We probably should talk," York said quietly.

Carolina nodded quickly, throwing the rest of her drink back with the hand that wasn't holding his wrist. "Not here," she said, before getting to her feet.

Tucker, also not wearing armor, stumbled towards them, incredibly drunk. " _Ooh_ , someone's going to be getting some! Bow-chicka— _ow_!" Wash grabbed Tucker by the shoulder and quickly steered him away.

York made a mental note to thank Wash for that later.

The room Carolina led them to was small and metal, with a single rough cot pushed into the corner. If it wasn't for the armor carefully piled on the desk, he wouldn't have known it was Carolina's room. It was stark, even more-so than her room at Project Freelancer, which he had always teased her for.

Before it had been funny, a source of a lot of jokes about Spartan interior decorating and the quiet acknowledgement that she couldn't have photos of her family.

But now York just felt sad looking at it.

She sat down on the bed, staring at her hands. "I don't know where to begin," she said quietly.

York sat down next to her. "Neither do I," he admitted.

They were quiet for a few moments. "Where's Epsilon?"

"With Caboose. Delta?"

"There was this kid—Jensen?—she seemed fascinated by him and they got talking. So I let him stick around."

She smiled slightly. "As long as she doesn't take him for a drive."

York snorted slightly.

They sat in silence again. Then he sighed, and ran his hands through his hair.

"I should have found them years ago. I thought about it, you know, when I heard they brought down Freelancer. Thought I should check on them, at the very least. I owed Tex that much." He looked at her. "Would I have found you?"

"No. I came later. Wash was there though."

York nodded. "Right."

" _I'm sorry_." Carolina burst out, turning towards him. "I thought you were gone, and I…" Carolina's hands were balled into fists, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "I gave up. I let you go. I didn't—I didn't look for options, I just—" Her head bowed. "I failed you."

"Whoa, whoa," York reached for her, but stopped, fingers inches away from her face. "You thought I was dead. You moved on, you healed—"

" _I forgot you_ ," Carolina's voice was ragged. "There would be whole weeks when I wouldn't think about you, and then I would and I'm—"

York rocked back, shocked. "Carolina?" He asked softly. "You do realize that the Director isn't exactly a healthy model of grief here?"

She froze.

"That's normal. I did it too. I don't blame you for that."

She seemed to crumple, and it was just _wrong_ to see her like this. York knew she wasn't as invincible as she liked to pretend, but even so, she was _Carolina_ , and seeing her like this was horrifying.

But he still needed to know.

"I don't blame you," he repeated. "But…" He swallowed. " _Five years_ , Carolina."

She wouldn't look at him again, staring at her hands. "I wanted to," she said, voice shaking. "Every… I would look at the reports, see where you were. I would pick a day. And I'd _promise_ myself. This time. I'm going to find you. I'm going to tell him. Tell _you_. But then it would come and I'd… I'd remember. And I'd think about how you _had_ to hate me. And I'd change my mind."

"Hate you?" He asked quietly.

She turned to face him, anger flickering across her face. "After everything I did—"

"Did you think I didn't know what you would do?" He demanded. "Did you think I didn't realize it the minute Tex asked me to do that? Sure, I hoped, but I knew what was going to happen! And I made my choice! I went with Tex, even though I knew that meant losing you!"

She stared at him, and then asked softly. " _Why_?"

"Because it was right. And because… I hoped that one day, you'd forgive me. But if I knew better and didn't do anything, I couldn't forgive myself."

She nodded once. "When I heard—" She broke off with a strangled noise.

"I know. I lost you too, remember?" He moved slightly closer.

She closed her eyes, and tried to regulate her breathing. "Epsilon… he showed me. Your logs."

"He _has those_?"

"Yeah. I… I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I should have—"

"Probably," York said. "But we all make mistakes. And we can't exactly change that." He sighed. "Fourteen years is a long time, I know."

"A very long time," she agreed.

"If there's… if there's someone else…"

"No. I was… I didn't let anyone get close. Until the Reds and Blues."

"Tex said they're good with that," York grinned slightly. Then it faded. "But I mean… that's still a long time. We're different people now. And there's still so much we haven't—" Her face was close. Too close.

They collided without saying anything else, lips meeting and arms moving to embrace each other. She smelled the same—the powder that kept her armor from chafing and gunmetal and the sea-salt shampoo that she had used for as long as he had known her. There were new scars that he could feel as their hands glided across skin, re-learning each other.

She pulled away as her fingers traced the raised ridge beneath his shirt that was the bullet that nearly killed him. "Wyoming?" She asked.

He nodded, and his fingers went to her temples. "Maine?"

She nodded as well, and traced his blind eye. "Tex?"

He grinned, and guided her hand to his chest, right over his heart. "Carolina," he said with a completely straight face.

She slapped his chest, shoulders shaking with laughter that she was fighting. "You _ass_."

"You bet," he grinned, leaning his forehead against hers.

Her fingers curled through his. Then her eyes went wide. "Oh!" She leapt to her feet. She ran over to her desk, pulling open one of the drawers.

He stood up, curious. "Is everything?"

She whipped around, and in her hands was his lighter.

He stared.

"You—"

"I went to the site where your armor—" She cut herself off. "It was there."

"I thought it was destroyed," York said. "You kept it?"

"I should ask you that," she muttered, flushing.

He grinned. "You're such a softie," he teased. "Sentimental—"

"Tell anyone, and I'll take your other eye," she threatened.

"Oh thank god. I was starting to think you'd gone soft."

She punched him lightly on the arm. He grinned, and kissed her again.

" _Holy shit_!" They both whipped around, reaching for their weapons that they were still carrying despite their civilian clothes.

Grif and Simmons were there, staring.

" _WrongRoomSorryPleaseDon'tKillUs_!" Simmons babbled, grabbing Grif and yanking him away, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Are those two—?"

"If they weren't before, they are now." Carolina grinned slightly. "Wash owes me twenty."

" _You_ figured something romantic out? Well I never—" She tried to hit him again, but he got away, grinning. "You've gotten slow!"

"It was obvious," she muttered.

"Epsilon told you, didn't he?"

"Shut up."

"Okay, but Wash and that Tucker guy?"

"Not yet, but there's another betting pool."

York grinned. "I'll have to get in on that."

Carolina paused. "So you're staying?" She was still holding the lighter out for him to take, as if she was expecting him to grab it from her and run. He curled her fingers around it.

"Unless you want me to go," he said quietly.

She shook her head. "No. Don't."

"Then I guess I'm staying," he said, before tilting his head to press his lips against her.

" _Fuck_! Wrong room."

"Are you _kidding me_ ," Carolina growled, turning her attention away from Wash.

It was Donut and the Doc guy.

"Okay, the next person who comes through that door, I'm going to shoot," York muttered.

" _Muahaha_. Incompetent fool! You could _try_."

"Seriously, I'm going to need that story eventually," York said to the ceiling.

"Sorry! We're just coming and going!" Donut said cheerfully, grinning widely. "Have fun!" The door closed again.

York flopped onto Carolina's bed. "If I kiss you again, who'll come charging in this time?"

"None," Carolina said, gritting her teeth, because I am going to _lock it_."

"I don't think they lock," York said, tilting his head to look. "Trust me, I know these things."

"I'll _make it_. I don't _want_ to see Tucker and Wash crashing in, because there's no way they're going to be fully clothed if they do."

"You really think—"

" _Celebration sex_ ," Carolina reminded him.

York grinned. "Ah, one of the best kinds, really."

She threw a pair of socks at him. "Stop looking so smug."

"What? Me? I'm offended!"

There was a thud against their door. A thud that sounded a lot like two bodies colliding.

" _Tucker_." They heard Wash say, before his voice was promptly muffled. The doorknob rattled, as if someone was trying to grope for it while being heavily kissed.

"York, moan," Carolina said.

"You're evil," York said, but obliged, loud and obnoxious.

There was a break. " _Fuck_ ," they heard Tucker say. "Is this even the right hallway?"

" _Carolina_ ," York groaned, and Carolina muffled her laughter in the pillow.

" _Fuck_. We've got to get out of here. Carolina will _murder us_."

They heard footsteps, and then… _silence_.

The two of them burst out laughing.

"You _ass_ ," Carolina said.

"You always said it was my best feature," York said with a straight face.

She laughed again, sitting down next to him. They just lay there for a moment, nestled against each other. York could feel her heart beat, just a little faster than normal.

"It's good to see Wash remembers his lesson from last time," York said, and she snorted.

"I missed him!"

"You still nearly shot him."

"I was startled!"

"So was he."

Carolina grinned, rolling to face him. Her fingers brushed his hair out of his face.

"I'm still waiting to wake up," she whispered.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to wait and see."


End file.
